Chapter 70: Bassline Slaughter

 

"Der Bunker" Nightclub. The Lab. 2:15 AM.

The dust from the explosion hadn't even settled when the first Cleaner stepped through the breach. He was a mountain of a man, encased in black tactical armor, holding a suppressed submachine gun. He didn't speak. He just raised his weapon.

Target acquired: Sterling.

Sebastian didn't think. He didn't plan. His body moved before his brain could process the threat. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in years—fluidity. No pain in his knees. No stiffness in his spine. He lunged forward, closing the distance in a blur.

The Cleaner fired. Phut. Phut. Sebastian side-stepped. The bullets shattered a glass beaker behind him. Sebastian grabbed the barrel of the gun with his left hand and drove his right fist into the Cleaner’s throat.

CRACK. The sound of crushing cartilage was audible even over the muffled bass. The Cleaner dropped the gun, clutching his throat, gagging. Sebastian spun around and kicked him in the chest. The 250-pound man flew backward through the smoke, slamming into the wall with enough force to crack the concrete.

Sebastian looked at his hands. They weren't shaking. They were steady as stone. He felt... electric. Every beat of the music outside felt like a pulse in his own veins.

"Holy sh*t," Dr. Klaus stared, holding a half-eaten kebab. "I gave you the Captain America juice."

"Move!" Harper screamed, firing her pistol at the second and third Cleaners entering the room. Bang! Bang! Her shots sparked off their body armor. These weren't standard mercenaries. They were walking tanks.

"We can't kill them with small arms!" Harper yelled. "We need to run!"

"To the dance floor!" Klaus grabbed a crate of glowing chemicals. "Follow me!"

---

[The Rave]

They burst out of the lab door and onto a metal catwalk overlooking the main dance floor. The scene was chaos. Three thousand people were dancing in a trance. Lasers cut through the smoke. The music was a wall of sound—industrial, aggressive, relentless.

"Down there!" Klaus pointed to the VIP exit on the far side.

But the Cleaners were already on the catwalk behind them. Red laser sights danced on Harper’s back.

"Get down!" Sebastian tackled Harper, shielding her as bullets sparked against the railing.

"They have us pinned!" Harper shouted.

Sebastian looked at the DJ booth suspended above the crowd. He saw the massive stack of speakers hanging from the ceiling, right next to the Cleaners. He looked at Klaus. "Klaus! The bass! Turn it to the max!"

"What?" Klaus yelled.

"Overload the system!" Sebastian roared. "Now!"

Klaus grinned. A manic, punk-rock grin. He pulled out a remote detonator (which apparently controlled the club's sound system, not a bomb). "Eat this, fascists!"

He cranked the dial. [ VOLUME: 100% -> ERROR ]

WUB-WUB-WUB-SCREEEEEEEE!

A frequency so low and so loud it wasn't heard—it was felt. The speakers exploded with a shockwave of sound. The Cleaners on the catwalk stumbled, clutching their helmets. The sonic pressure disoriented their inner ears. Their vision blurred.

"Now!" Sebastian vaulted over the railing. He didn't use the stairs. He dropped twenty feet down to the stage. He landed in a crouch. Ideally, his knees should have shattered. Instead, he absorbed the impact like a cat and sprang up instantly.

He grabbed a microphone stand (heavy iron) and swung it like a staff. A Cleaner who had rappelled down to the stage tried to intercept him. CLANG. Sebastian shattered the man's visor.

Harper and Braun scrambled down the service ladder. "He's fast," Harper watched Sebastian fighting two men at once. He was weaving, striking, using the strobe lights to mask his movements. He wasn't just fighting. He was dancing with the violence.

---

[The Chemical Exit]

More Cleaners were pouring in from the main entrance. "We are cut off!" Braun shouted, huffing and puffing.

"Klaus!" Sebastian yelled over the music. "Clear the room!"

Dr. Klaus stood on the catwalk, holding two glass flasks filled with a neon-pink liquid. "Party's over, kids!" He smashed the flasks together and dropped them into the crowd's ventilation system.

HISS. A thick, pink smoke billowed out instantly. It wasn't tear gas. It was "Flash-Crash"—a mild hallucinogen mixed with heavy glitter and skunk spray. The crowd panicked. Not because they were hurt, but because the smell was unbearable. "Fire! Fire!" Thousands of people stampeded toward the exits, creating a human shield between Sebastian and the Cleaners.

"Go! Go! Go!" Sebastian grabbed Harper’s hand. They blended into the terrified crowd, using the chaos as cover. They pushed through the fire exit, bursting out into the freezing Berlin night.

---

[The Aftermath]

An Alleyway. Two Blocks Away.

They collapsed against a graffiti-covered wall, gasping for air. The snow was falling softly, muffling the distant sirens. Dr. Braun was bent over, vomiting from the exertion (and the smell of the pink gas). Harper checked her gun. Empty.

Sebastian stood straight. He wasn't panting. He wasn't shivering. He looked at his cane, which he had instinctively carried with him. He stared at it for a long moment. Then, he snapped it in half over his knee. SNAP.

He threw the pieces into a dumpster.

"Sebastian?" Harper looked at him, eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

Sebastian looked at his hands. He could feel his heart beating slow and strong. He felt... powerful. But he also felt something else. A coldness. When he broke the Cleaner's neck, he didn't feel fear or disgust. He felt... efficiency. "I'm fine," Sebastian said. His voice was calm. Too calm. "Better than fine."

He looked at Dr. Klaus, who had escaped with them, clutching his hard drive. "The Cleaners found us too fast," Sebastian said. "How?"

Dr. Braun wiped his mouth. He looked guilty. "I... I bought cigarettes," Braun whispered. "With my old card."

Sebastian looked at Braun. Harper flinched, expecting Sebastian to explode in rage. The old Sebastian would have destroyed Braun with words.

But the new Sebastian just stared. His pupils dilated. He calculated the variables. Braun was useful. Braun made a mistake. "Don't do it again," Sebastian said coldly. "Next time, you pay with a finger."

Harper shivered. It wasn't the cold wind. It was the tone. The man she loved was back. He was healed. But he had left a piece of his humanity in that chair.

"We need to move," Sebastian turned to the street. "The station. We are taking the first train East." "To Russia."

"Russia?" Braun groaned. "Why Russia?"

"Because the Syndicate has no power in the Kremlin," Sebastian smiled. A sharp, wolf-like smile. "And I have an old friend in St. Petersburg who owes me a favor." "A friend who sells weapons."